Chapter 2

Having the week off proved to be a double edged sword. I got to have a lie in and work at my own leisure. It also meant that I was around my sister far too much. As she didn’t have to work, she didn’t. She expected everything done for her and it usually was.

At first, I tried to do my work at the kitchen table, on the assumption that Susan tended to avoid that room. It didn’t work. She would come in regularly when Mum wasn’t there and demand I make her something, a cuppa tea, a sandwich or anything else that took her fancy. If I wanted a brew myself then I would comply, but every other request was met with a polite no. It had to be polite as I knew it would be fed back to our father. After one refusal Susan ‘accidentally’ spilt milk over my paper. Her grin told me everything, as did the total lack of, even an insincere, apology.

One very unpleasant event that happened, once again, when my mother was out shopping, was when I answered the door. We had a rather annoying doorbell and I knew better to expect the Princess Susan to answer, so rather than put up with the irritating noise, I would do it myself. When I did open the door, it was to a really pretty young woman, about my age, but unusually, I had no idea who it was.

On seeing me, she scowled and took two quick steps backward, almost falling over. “Get away from me you pervert!” She shouted.

‘Ah!’ I thought, ‘one of Susan’s friends.’ Not in the least bit surprised, I turned, closed the door and headed back to my room, from where I was now working. As I passed the Living Room, I shouted. “Susan, one of your nasty little disciples is at the door.”

About twenty minutes later, I heard her try to open my door. Unbeknown to her I’d added a couple of bolts, which when I was working, were kept fastened. I ignored her whining.

That evening as we all sat to eat, my father listened to Susan’s version of the day’s events, which for a change were not a million miles from the truth. I’d insulted her friend, slammed the door in her face and refused to open it again. I’d also locked her out of my room.

“Why did you do that?” He asked, not even thinking that Susan was exaggerating or even lying.

“I didn’t insult her and I didn’t slam the door, I merely closed it.” I responded calmly.

“I’ve warned you about lying to me,” my father warned.

I didn’t bother to reply as I knew it was pointless.

“And what’s this about locking your bedroom door, or about refusing to make your sister some lunch?”

“I am home to work, unlike some. Susan can make her own lunch, or wait until her other servant comes back. As for my room there are work papers in there which she would take great pleasure in spoiling. She’s tried it once when I was working in the kitchen.”

To her credit, my sister didn’t bother to deny the fact.

“Listen lad, when you are at home, your sister’s wishes take priority over yours. You will remove any bolts immediately.”

“No!” I refused.

“No? This is my house and if you want to continue to live here then you will abide by MY rules.”

“To be honest, I don’t want to live here but I can’t afford to leave as more than half my wages go on my bitch of a sister.” I was angry now, this was the last straw. As I spoke, I knew that I was burning bridges, but, in my ire, my mouth kept running. “You’ve taken her side since we were born, and I’ve had enough. She’s vilified me to all the girls on the estate, to the degree that a total stranger called me a pervert and was clearly scared of me. That, by the way, was today’s friend.”

“Well you are a pervert!” Susan said grinning, “I’ve seen the way you look at me and my friends.”

I laughed. “The only way I ever look at you is with complete contempt. You don’t have one redeemable feature. As for your friends, I have looked at some with interest, but you’ve already corrupted them by the time I get to see them. If looking at an attractive girl is perverted, then so are all normal boys, men too, in fact.”

“Enough!” My father shouted. “I’ve heard enough of your venom. You have until Sunday to clear your room and find somewhere else to live.”

“NO!” Said Mum suddenly, surprising everyone else. She never spoke up and I doubt had ever contradicted her husband. “David is right, you, with my condonation, have spoilt Susan to the extent that she believes the world revolves around her. It’s far too late to change that. David!” She looked at me. “Your strong words, no doubt built up over many years are understandable, but means that living here is now untenable. I agree with your father that moving out is the only way forward. Where I don’t agree is on a deadline. I will help you find somewhere suitable, but until you do, this is still your home. Susan, you are to stay out of his room and preferably out of his way. Is that understood?”

She stared at her daughter until Susan finally understood that her mother was serious and nodded her acceptance. My father looked gobsmacked and had no further input. The rest of the meal was consumed in total silence, after which I retreated to my room to ruminate on the evening’s events. My plans already included moving out, though I’d hoped to buy somewhere after I’d saved enough for a deposit. This new situation meant that I’d need to rent first, making saving even more difficult.

I was surprised that my father didn’t come to my room and berate me some more, but he didn’t. Sleep was difficult in coming and harder still to maintain.

A knock at my door woke me. “Come down to some breakfast as soon as you are up,” my mother shouted. A quick look at my alarm clock told me that it was just past nine o’clock meaning my father would have already left for work. Dressing quickly, I made my way downstairs to a full fry up, a real novelty.

Mum’s timing was good, as apart from no father, it was highly unlikely that Susan would surface much before eleven o’clock. Mum quizzed me on what I really wanted and what I thought I could afford. What I thought that was and what Mum thought it was were a distance apart. The number of expenses of running a household, even just a bedsit, were a shock. In the end we decided, or should I say, Mum decided and I acquiesced, was I would stay at home for another six months, thereabouts.

I would pay no board, though would have to give my unopened payslip to Mum, who after returning a minimal amount of pocket money, would ensure the rest was saved. She also stressed that I should leave my father and sister to her. In all my years, I’d never seen Mum take control like this and commented on it. She apologised, saying that she should have done it years ago but didn’t realise how bad Susan treated me.

Nothing else was said about my eviction, as my sister’s deadly stare was not words. Meal times were tense and my father only ever addressed me if he had to. It was still far better than what had gone before.

I’d been back at work about two hours when Mr. Hartley-Smith summoned me. Grabbing my now complete report I went up to his office, where I was only kept waiting a few moments before being sent into his office.

“Have you finished your report?” He asked, whilst indicating that I sit down.

“Yes sir.”

“Does it cover all departments?”

“All except Sales, where I’ve spent little or no time.” I explained.

He then spent the next fifteen minutes reading my report, before responding. “Very good, concise yet detailed. I must say that I’m surprised at some of your recommendations as much as I am over the thought process that you felt entitled to make them, given your current position.”

“Until last week, I never expected anyone other than me to read them. I did consider removing some of the more critical comments, but in the end, I thought that you would prefer that I kept them in.”

“And rightly so, young man. Anything to add regarding Sales?”

I hesitated, I did have some ideas but felt that my experience was lacking to present them. Mr. Hartley-Smith could see that in my face so prompted me to open up.

“The main one sir, is low value products. I assume that because of commissions the salesmen don’t push them. I feel that this is a flaw for two reasons. Take the cotter pins we use, they cost less than 1p to produce yet sell for 75p a dozen, an excellent margin and an easy add-on for any order. The salesmen then have a small bonus and we have a nice profit. Add to that, we produce them in relatively small batches, so if we sold more we could produce longer runs and lower the cost, especially as they are so small as not to take up much space.”

“Interesting!” Was his only response, but went on, “talking of taking up space, explain what you mean by using more blanks.”

“Well sir, we have a large number of repeat orders for products that have only slight variances. At the moment we produce these to order. Ninety percent or more of each product’s make up is the same. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to have one machine producing a block of that ninety percent, then when an order comes in, just cut that last bit?”

“Well David, you’ve given me a lot to consider. I will sound out our department heads. For now, thank you and you can get back to work.”

It was almost June, a month later, before I heard anything further about my report, other than a few cryptic comments from Paul Yea. At home, it was a month of tension as my sister tried to make my life with her even more miserable than usual. She was subtle about it, somewhat of a first, as finesse was not her strong point. My father ignored me verbally, though the looks of almost hatred, let me know how he felt. Mum, kept her promise by ensuring that he kept to the bargain we’d made. Susan pleaded with her mother that it was unfair, as without my income, the money available to her cut down her spending. Mum’s suggestion that she get a job herself was met with horror. Fortunately, this all tended to happen only at mealtimes, as I spent the rest of my time either outside or in my bedroom.

At work, the mundane ruled, which I was more than happy with. I didn’t even see Mr. Hartley-Smith or his daughter. The only change was that I’d been due to spend the latter half of the month in the Sales department, but was kept in Purchasing.

That all changed when I received another summons, only this time to the boardroom. It was delivered by my manager, Paul, who also accompanied me to the meeting. When I entered the room I was surprised, and somewhat worried, that all the company’s managers and directors were sitting around the large and beautiful mahogany table. Mr. Hartley-Smith sat at one end of the table and I was directed to the other end. This was the first time that I’d been in this room and marvelled at the quality on show. I was looking around at the exquisite décor, partly in appreciation but more so to mask my nervousness.

The next two hours were a mix of emotions; joy at some of the complements I received; dismay when some of my suggestions were rejected, callously by one manager and everything in between. It appears that my report had been taken very seriously, far more than I had expected or even hoped for. Most of the managers seemed in agreement with my findings, except for those pertaining to their own departments, there acceptance was more varied.

Steven Parrish, Stores Manager, was the most critical. He was of the opinion that no changes were required and how could a mere boy, after just three months in his department, tell him, with over twenty five years experience, how to run it. This belief was repeated in various forms throughout the meeting, but never directly to me.

Apart from Mr. Parrish, who downright refused to even contemplate any changes, each of the managers took turns to question me or correct me on any inaccurate assumptions I’d made. I did my best to defend my findings, occasionally arguing over a detail or two. The big surprise was Ian Harding, the Sales Director and number two to Mr. Hartley-Smith, he was full of praise for the report, especially as it applied to sales.

“For someone who has yet to spend his time with us, I find his ideas clear, concise and, more importantly good. He has suggested simple solutions to improving turnover and at damn good margins too.” He expanded at the end of the meeting, well, the end as far as my participation.

More weeks passed, much as before, until the end of July, Mr. Hartley-Smith called for me.

“Sit down, please David. I must say that your report has highlighted both some worrying thoughts and creative ideas. I have decided to act on many of those. Firstly, your apprenticeship is finished.”

See the shock and worry on my face, he continued, “your apprenticeship, David, not your job. From Monday you will be a full member of the management team with responsibilities that I’ll come to in a moment. Mr. Parrish refused to implement any changes, so after numerous discussions has accepted early retirement. John Sayers will be taking over. On my desk is a complete list of what changes we accept are needed or beneficial. Your new role is that of trouble-shooter for want of a better description, and your first job is to see that these changes are implemented according to this document.” He said pointing to a folder on his desk. “Please note, it is not up to you to carry out those requirements, just to ensure that they are done. You are answerable to me only. I don’t think there will be any problems but if you encounter any then I will adjudicate. We will also require a new apprentice and I think you are ideally suited to select the next one. Work with Personnel, oh and no nepotism.”

‘Fat chance of that,’ I thought thinking about my family and lack of a social life. I was also informed that I was now management, very junior, but management nonetheless. That meant I was now salaried not hourly paid. Salaries were paid monthly, not weekly, which I would have to explain to Mum. When I went to see Mrs. Rogers in Personnel to discuss the next apprentice, I was amazed to hear, through some laughter that my own wage, sorry, salary, had quadrupled. I knew, as an apprentice my wages were low, I just never realised how low.

Mrs. Rogers was the spitting image of a younger Lucille Ball, looks-wise, as well as temperament. I had spent 6 weeks in her department and had enjoyed every minute. Don’t get me wrong, the work was done swiftly and efficiently, but in a happy environment. Personnel was the one department that my report had not suggested any improvements for.

Brenda Cummins, was a clerk in Personnel and it was her to which I was assigned to produce an advert for the next apprentice. Brenda was in her mid twenties, and average in just about every physical aspect. I was surprised and very wary when she started flirting very suggestively. During my time spent here, she had ignored me as much as possible. I was reminded of how someone reacted to a friend’s pet poodle when they really hated dogs but wanted something from said friend. Obviously, Brenda knew of my promotion and was seeing me as possibly useful or even a potentially good catch. I may have been naïve in one sense but Susan had prepared me well where trusting a woman’s motives was concerned. The sudden change in attitude coinciding with my own change of circumstances, allowed me, even as one devoid of female companionship, to ignore her.

As the previous advert was still on record, it was an easy job to update it to attract the right applicant. It would go in Wednesday’s Evening Sentinel. The Sentinel was our local newspaper, printed, as the name suggests, early afternoon and usually bought and read of an evening. Wednesday was the traditional day for job adverts.

With that done, came lunch. Given my lack of ready cash, my mother always made me sandwiches and always a cheap cut of meat or a fish paste. I didn’t mind as I quite liked the fare, especially Haslet, which was my current offering. I unwrapped the grease proof paper, nothing more really than bread wrapper, and started to eat. I was still sat at the desk I’d been using that morning.

“Tea, coffee?” Asked Mrs. Rogers.

“Coffee please, if it’s no bother.”

It wasn’t and a few minutes later she placed a cup on my desk and surprisingly drew up a chair to sit facing me.

“Why are you so scared of girls?”

I looked around, realised that there were only the two of us in the office, so told her about my sister and the local girls.

“Have you ever been on a date?”

I shook my head.

“So you’re a virgin.” She stated rather than asked.

I again nodded as I felt my embarrassment rise to maximum.

“Would you like to learn about women?”

“Yes,” I croaked, not sure where this conversation was going.

“Okay, some background first. My husband works on the rigs in the North Sea on a three month on, three months off basis. When he is away, I have permission to take a lover. There are conditions of course. No pregnancy, no clap and I have to give him up before Jack returns. I’m not allowed the same one again either. Now, Jack has been away for a couple of weeks already and I’m starting to feel a little horny.” She looked at me and laughed at the shocked expression I had on my face.

“You are surprised that women get horny? That they want sex as much as men do?”

A gulp, followed by a nod was my response.

“So how would you like me to teach you about women, or do you think I’m too old?” Her confident voice told me that she didn’t think so.

Once more a nod was all I could manage.

“Good. Now the rules. As I’m on the fabulous pill, we can rule out Jack’s first two worries. I love my husband more than I do sex, so I WILL abide by the other conditions. So DO NOT get emotionally attached. We can meet a couple of nights a week and the most weekends, but there will be no overnight stays ... ever! At work I will be addressed professionally and you do not talk about it to anyone. Can you manage all that?”

I struggled to take it all in. Did I want to learn all about sex, damn right I did. Did I fancy Mrs Rogers, not really but she had a nice figure and looked okay for her age, which I was to later find out was 36, exactly double my own. I knew that I could easily abide by her conditions. My worry though, was could I trust a woman, any woman. In the end, I decided that I had nothing to lose, so agreed. Once the decision was made I became full of anticipation. A few questions about any prior commitments that I might have, which were of course zero, and we agreed that I would visit her house that evening.

So began my education and what an education it proved to be. Dot, as I’d been asked to call her outside of work, was indeed a sexual woman. I was taught how to please my partner, what signals to look for as to her likes and dislikes. More positions than I could recall, and a few that were impossible to maintain. Dot loved my youthful power of recovery and promised herself that future lovers would also by a lot younger. She admitted to one hangup, and to be honest one I agreed with, and that was no sex during her period. It was predominantly during those times that I learned how to treat a woman outside the bedroom, how to read her moods and the differences between the sexes thought processes. A problem to a man was something to be solved, to a woman, it was something to discuss. A woman didn’t ‘know’ how a man felt unless he spoke and demonstrated it, and did so often.

Fortunately, although I felt some affection for Dot, there was no emotion involved. I appreciated the sex of course, as well as being able to trust a woman somewhat. Apart from interviews for the new apprentice, I spent no time in Personnel, so we didn’t need to hide anything. As it turned out, the same week that was to be my last with Dot, my mother approached me and said that I now had enough money saved for a deposit. With my new income, I could apply for a mortgage. In just a few months, I would turn nineteen, which would provide a further salary increase.

I took this information to my Building Society and they provisionally offered me a mortgage, subject to the selected property passing a survey, which naturally, I had to pay for. The loan offered meant that I could easily afford a terraced house in Penkhull, which was my preferred location. It also meant that I could buy a new build, semi-detached house on one of the new estates popping up around the city. I liked the idea of a semi, with front and back garden, maybe even a garage. That is until I saw them being built, if thrown up breeze block and thin stud walls could be classed as built. I also noted that all those houses already occupied seemed to have screaming kids running riot. Decision made, a solidly built Victorian terraced house for me.

I made a list of a few that were for sale in my preferred area and within budget. I then approached Barry Bloor at work. Barry was the buildings man, a one-man department, who looked after everything to do with the factory property. Used to being asked for his opinion by staff purchasing new properties, he agreed swiftly to help in my selection. This proved a godsend, as in two properties we viewed he saw potential money pits, where I saw nothing out of the ordinary. One was in need of a new roof, the other had major damp problems hidden by newly applied wallpaper and paint. We did settle for a nice two bedroom house in Penkhull. It had once been a three bed, but the bathroom had been moved upstairs and a larger kitchen fitted downstairs. I managed to obtain a small discount that just covered my solicitor’s fees. It took over nine weeks to complete the purchase and I received the keys to my first home one week after my nineteenth birthday. Barry charged me his usual fee, an evening’s beers, which in his case only amounted to three.

Back at work, things were progressing well. We had our new admin apprentice and for the first time it was a girl. Ruth Lincoln was sixteen, slim with long dirty blonde hair almost down to her waist. Apart from a touch of lipstick her pretty face was unadorned. Not plain, nor traditionally beautiful, her appeal came more from her personality and figure than her face. It was an appeal I felt at the first interview and it was strong enough that I excused myself from her subsequent ones. Dot, sorry, Mrs. Rogers laughed when I explained but told me that I had acted correctly. Fortunately, I had very little subsequent contact with Ruth and none at all that was one on one.

One unpleasant contact I did have was with Lorraine Hartley-Smith, I was just leaving his office when she walked through the open door. I had thought that such a non-entity as myself was far below her radar. Apparently not, as the look she gave me would have done one of the Gorgons proud, though still fell short of Susan’s.

About a month after I’d moved into my new home, All that was left was to review the changes I’d made, now all complete, and hand a report in. Mr. Hartley-Smith had wanted a full report before he set me my next assignment. All departments seemed to have benefited from the new changes, apart from one, Stores. This I found puzzling, as my suggestions would have increased workload a fraction but should have had little other impact. There were the extras that I’d suggested we carry in stock, plus a new inventory system. This should have slightly improved things, not have led to the figures that I was seeing. I treble checked my results before I went to see Mr. Hartley-Smith.

“Are you sure about this David?” He asked after I’d appraised him of the situation.

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand that this means someone is rather light-fingered?”

“I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“Right, leave it with me and not a word to anyone, and I mean anyone at all.” He ordered. “Now for your next job. I want you to visit, first, all our regular suppliers. A courtesy call, see if we can do anything to help them bring the prices down, improve delivery times or quality. Then do the same goes for our customers but here see what we can do to improve their businesses, maybe get more of their orders.”

The following Monday I had an early appointment with Walkers, our lubricant supplier. Phil Bradbury was our account manager there and he was intrigued about my visit and the reasons for it. After a tour around their factory we retired to his office and chatted for a couple of hours. He did have a few ideas, nothing they could do on the quality side but some deliveries could be done faster if we provided more accurate specifications as to what we wanted. Often our orders needed further details before they could be processed, often resulting in a day or more delay. Price was always fluctuating but larger orders always helped, as did combining products for one delivery.

“We quote free delivery, but we both know that nothing in business is truly free.” He laughed.

Entering ‘City’ after my meeting, I was called over to reception. Yvonne Meadows was our company’s receptionist, two or three years older than me and one of the few in the company that knew Susan. No doubt, due to that knowledge, Yvonne had always treated me like dirt. “Mr. Hartley-Smith wants to see you immediately,” she snarled, “no doubt you’ve screwed up.”

Her attitude washed over me, as I expected no other. Instead, I smiled and thanked her, a gesture that I knew would annoy her more than anything else I did.

“Sit down,” I was told as soon as I entered Mr. Hartley-Smith’s office. “How well do you know the Stores Department?”

“Quite well, I couldn’t tell you where everything is like the guys down there, but other than that pretty well.”

“Good, because you are about to run the place, at least short term.”

“What about Mr. Sayers?”

“He’s been dismissed. It was his fingers that were light. Sadly not enough proof for the police but more than enough to get rid of him.”

I had guessed that but had held my tongue, guesswork on something like that just wasn’t good enough, plus I knew Mr. Hartley-Smith would sort things out.

“Finish what you have been doing then head down to stores. You job is to get things back to normal and see if there’s anyone there worth promoting. If not, consider if you want the position full time, though I would prefer the former.”

“Yes sir.”

The next two weeks flew by, I was working twelve hour days, as there was much I needed to do and learn, that could not be done during working hours.

It was therefore with great relief when I felt that I’d cracked it and decided to celebrate with a pint. I was heading to the pub when a young lad, about my age, bumped into me. I felt a sharp pain in my ribs and reaching up to rub them felt a warm wetness. That’s all I felt until I woke up in what was obviously a hospital bed, with my mother sitting patiently nearby.

“Hi Mum,” I managed to croak, “any chance of a drink?”

She was up and out of her seat like a shot, “Are you alright David?”

“I’ve been better, now how about that drink?” I mumbled.

She rushed off to find a nurse or doctor and came back with one of each. The doctor ignored my thirst and began an examination of my body, which was now beginning to hurt, especially the side of my chest. It was only then that I recalled what had happened and understood why I hurt.

Remembering the wetness I felt, I asked. “Was I stabbed?”

“Yes, but lucky for you the knife missed your vital organs. He appeared to hold the knife in the wrong hand to do you any real damage but even then it could have been far worse. It hit a rib which deflected it somewhat, so your ribs will cause some you pain for a while. I will notify the police that you are conscious as they wish to interview you.” The young and quite pretty doctor said. I knew then that I wasn’t fully functional as I paid no further attention to either the doctor, nor the even prettier nurse.

I ascertained, by looking at the clock above the door, that I’d been out for just short of four hours. I was wrong, It’d been sixteen hours and one operation since the attack. The operation had been ‘just’ to check for damage and sew me back up. I also learnt that I’d lost a significant, though not a dangerous, amount of blood and that I was receiving pain killers through a drip.

A police sergeant arrived later that morning and after introducing himself as PS Wilcox, asked all the obvious questions, like did I recognise my assailant, who would want me hurt, even dead. I was no help, other that he was my age and short. After a lot of questions the only name I could come up with was John Sayers, but I couldn’t see it being him as I don’t think he would have held me responsible for his dismissal.

The following Sunday afternoon, after some pressure from me, I was allowed to leave, with strict instructions to take it easy. For all of England’s so called April Showers, it was warm and bright, normally enough to cheer me up, but I was still a bit drugged up, so hardly noticed. Taking it easy was one instruction that I was happy to comply with. Mum insisted that for a few days at least, I would be going home, by which she meant her house, not mine. I wasn’t really in a position to refuse.

“What’s he doing here, shouldn’t he be dead?” Demanded my loving sister as her welcome. Even my father looked shocked at this outburst from his princess.

Early that evening PS Wilcox arrived as we we all sat around to watch the box. The sergeant was old, to me anyway, not in his physical prime and had a red drinkers face. His uniform had the shine associated with many years of wear. His demeanour looked similarly worn down.